One Day
by SeleneAherne
Summary: One normal day in the lives of Peeta and Katniss. One shot!


A/N: A little one shot for Jushuterson on Tumblr.

And yes, I will post chapter two of both my stories…soon...

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><p><span>One Day<span>

On days like today, I don't enjoy the forest. The snow had fallen last night and there were about six inches outside. At dawn I knew I had to check my snares, to try and bring in what little game is outside before we're completely snowed in. It's a task that usually only takes an hour or so, but the day is almost over and I've just returned home.

I stomp out my boots and leave them by the back door. I take care not to track the snow through the house. A house that is strangely quiet. As I throw my forging bag on the counter, I look in the sink that's full of dirty dishes. My usually tidy Peeta has left dishes in the sink. Again. For the third day in a row.

I sigh, pushing my sleeves up. I don't think I'll ever get used to hot running water, but I'm grateful for it as I fill up one side of the sink to start washing. It's a mundane task, washing dishes. I remember thinking that my life would never be normal again. I was absorbed in grief of losses, overwhelmed by the past, and lost in every day. Today's better. I'm able to function and I infrequently loose myself to despair anymore. And when I do let go and let it swallow me whole, Peeta's there holding my hand. He's there to brush his hand down my back. To press his lips to mine and remind me of the life I have worth living.

As I finish up the dishes, I grab the dish towel off the counter to dry my hands. It's crusted with flour and I end up having to wash my hands again. Peeta basically rules the kitchen. I've never been much of a cook, and after trying my hands at baking it's clear I'm not good at that either. Apparently, I'm good at killing and cleaning. Cleaning the things I kill and the house.

As I step into the laundry room to put the dirty towel into the hamper, I see it's overflowing with laundry. Taking a deep breath in through my nose, I try to remind myself there was a time when I only owned a few pieces. There were winters when my clothes were so thin and threadbare I thought I would freeze to death. Now I remind myself, I am thankful for the pile of clothes that Peeta and I own_. So very thankful._ I think, as I shove the clothes in the washer as hard as I can.

Peeta's fussed at me for this. Someone, who knows who, made a rule that you have to separate the clothes. Towels, whites, and darks. I think that's a great idea, and that person can do the laundry that way when they want. When I do laundry, I'll do it the way I want. Which right now, I'd like to throw it all in the fire and be done._ Deep breaths. _I remind myself.

I go back into the kitchen to finish getting the rabbit ready for dinner, only to notice flour is powdered across the island where I usually work. I grab a clean towel and wipe up the mess, rinsing and hanging the cloth in the sink.

"Peeta, where are you?" I holler out.

I hear a faint noise before he answers, "I'm painting!"

Painting. I'm going to strangle him. I finish getting the rabbit ready, cover it, and leave it by the stove. I put the rest of my haul away, and put my forging bag up.

As I head for the stairs, I see the blankets are thrown into a pile in a big heap on my couch. I debate between folding them and throwing them at Peeta. _Blankets. They're not the end of the world. _I tell myself. I start towards them to fold and put them away. I repeat my calming mantra:

_My name is Katniss Everdeen. I survived two Hunger Games. I was the Mockingjay. Peeta was kidnapped. We saved him. I got him back and-_I lose my balance, throwing my arms out to catch myself. I manage to turn and land on my butt. There, under my feet, is a pair of black boots and thick wool socks. _And I'm going to kill him._

I stand and snatch up his boots. I can't fight the anger I'm feeling. I stomp up the stairs and throw open the door to the room Peeta's painting in. He hurdles off his seat and jumps back into his canvas, which falls with a clatter to the ground. I've startled him. Good. I throw the boots at him, getting a satisfaction as he dodges them.

"Katniss! What's the matter!?" He yelps.

Peeta's face goes from startled to concern in a split second when he realizes it's me. He opens his arms, preparing to take me into them to comfort me.

"Peeta Mellark, you stop right there," I say, waving an angry finger at him. Peeta stops, blinks a few times, and lowers his arms. "What the hell is your problem?"

I can see him trying to work it all out. He looks at me and the shoes. I see the crease between his eyebrows deepen.

"I was hijacked," he trails off.

I feel myself getting angrier. And I know I should walk away. Really, it's not that big of a deal in the long run. Yet, I'm so angry at him.

"I'll hijack you if you don't start cleaning up after yourself! You left a the kitchen a wreck, the laundry is piling up, the blankets are in a pile on the couch, I tripped over your stupid boots, and you're up here painting!" I say.

Peeta blinks a few times. I really don't understand what's so hard to understand.

"I… I couldn't…" he's wringing his hands and looking at his canvas.

A canvas that is painted with my image. I'm sitting on the beach, smiling and holding my precious pearl. I feel my anger deflate slowly. Peeta's painted the memory in perfect detail. I feel the guilt sinking in.

"I'll just go down stairs and clean up," he says. "I'm sorry I made a mess and you fell. Are you ok?"

I walk over to Peeta, and take his face in my hands. Slowly, I press a kiss to his lips and rest my forehead against his.

"You have to admit, these are some wonderful problems to have," He whispers before kissing me again.


End file.
